Pasta Primer

Pasta secca is one of the iconic dishes in southern Italy. Here it’s depicted in its most pure form.

I may be stating the obvious, but pasta in southern Italy is as firmly ingrained in the culture as turkey at Thanksgiving is in the U.S. Except pasta appears every day at the Pugliese table, unlike (happily) that ubiquitous American turkey. Like polenta to northern Italians and beans to the Tuscans, dried pasta is almost iconic south of Rome. And we notice it all the more because we’re trying to wean ourselves off of our daily fix. It seems that new research has helped us understand what we probably knew all along. As a result of the proliferation of highly refined strains of wheat now used in just about every prepared, wheat-based product including pasta, we’ve learned that most commercially available dried pasta may actually be physiologically addictive. I can’t imagine a worse revelation because I am truly, deeply and irretrievably fond of pasta.

Unexpected

Gates like these dot the countryside in the Valle d’itria. They remind me that doors everywhere are just waiting to be opened.

A little more than six months have passed since we changed everything about our lives. It’s easy to identify the radical differences—we aren’t working for other people or institutions, we don’t drive everywhere, we’re speaking another language—but the subtle, under-the-radar changes are the ones that sneak up behind us and let us know that this nuova storia isn’t business as usual. And it’s the small things, the unexpected surprises, which have truly changed us.

Buon Pranzo—A Tavola!

Handmade orecchiette or little ears, the beloved pasta of Puglia.

In Martina Franca, the Sunday lunch experience begins with a flurry of activity. Family members and guests gather at the appointed hour, shedding coats, hats and scarves amidst an explosion of excited greetings and dual cheek kissing. It may have been only hours since some of these people have seen one another, but skipping the customary greeting is mal educato (poorly mannered) in the extreme. It’s also essential to be on time, typically 1:00 p.m or 1:15 p.m. at the latest. Unlike many other appointments in Italy, lateness at pranzo puts the offender at risk of making a brutta figura (bad impression). After all, the latecomer is standing between all the other guests and the pasta.

Little Saint Nick

Our Pugliese Christmas tree is decorated with ceramic pigne, which bring good fortune.

One of the many benefits we had fantasized about living in Italy year round was a more joyful, less commercial Christmas experience than the one we had come to know in the U.S. As our children have grown, we have found ourselves feeling less and less compelled to seek Christmas-y perfection in the form of a profusion of gifts and a series of parties. Instead, we longed for a more deeply felt holiday season. What better venue to look for meaning than Italy, where family and food are the highest priorities?